


(i'm your) daily dose

by scorpionGrass



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, Moving In Together, Multi, Pining, Roommates, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, instagram au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpionGrass/pseuds/scorpionGrass
Summary: After a bad breakup that ends with Vector getting kicked out, he finds himself temporarily living with his old friend Alit. And his unbelievably attractive roommate.
Relationships: Don Thousand/Vector, Mizael/Tenjou Kaito, Mizael/Vector, Tsukumo Yuuma/Vector
Comments: 30
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Vector punches in the number for Alit’s apartment, a duffle bag slung across him and a backpack making his shoulders ache. The comm beeps for fifteen seconds before Alit finally answers.

“Vector?” he says when the cam comes on, static blurring the image. “What are you--”

He rolls his eyes. “Can I stay with you for a while?”

“What happened to your place?”

“What do you think?”

“You got kicked out?”

Vector adjusts his duffle bag over his shoulder and scowls. “Why else would I ask to live in this dump?” he grumbles. “Can I stay or not?”

“I’d have to ask my roommate. Here, come up at least.”

There’s a loud buzzing sound and the doors to the building crack open. Vector sighs at the now-dark screen and heads inside. The apartment really is a dump, at least compared to his boyfriend’s place. Always spick and span and irritatingly clean, like no one lived there because he wasn’t ever home. And when he was, well…

Vector jams his thumb into the elevator’s call button before realizing all three are out of service. All of them? Really? He scoffs, then glances around. He’s never had to take the stairs before, so he has no idea where they are.

He pulls out his phone and calls Alit. It takes three rings for him to pick up.

“Your damn elevators are out. Where’re the stairs?”

“What, really? Fuck. Hold on, I’ll come down. You’ll need help with those bags, anyway.”

He hangs up and Vector stuffs the phone back into his jacket. There’s only one bench in the lobby and it looks like it’d break if he dared sit down, so instead he leans against the wall next to an empty vending machine and takes off his backpack. Rolls his shoulders. Tries not to think about the fight that got him here.

“Vector!”

He looks up and frowns in response to Alit’s bright grin. “Hey.”

Alit’s already grabbing both his bags, throwing one over his shoulder. “C’mon. You look like shit, by the way.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Vector says dryly. “It’s really the lack of effort that makes it work.”

Alit just snickers as he leads him down the hall. There’s a part of the drywall that’s dented in and Vector wonders exactly what kind of apartment this is. Do they not do upkeep?

At least he knows he’s safe with Alit, with his six-pack and the boxing classes he teaches on weekends.

“So, what happened?” Alit asks when they hit the stairway. “Nothing good, if you’re here.”

Vector doesn’t want to tell him, but it’s the fastest way to garner pity from whoever he’s got to convince up in the apartment. “Yuuma broke up with me. Gave me an hour to leave.”

“That’s rough. You okay?”

Stairs are exhausting. Vector pauses for a second to take a breather. “I’m fucking fine. I just need a place to crash for a while.”

“How long, you think?”

“The hell am I supposed to know?”

“So, indefinitely?”

Vector doesn’t respond, dragging himself up to the next floor. “How many more?”

“We’re on the ninth floor.”

“Fuck.”

Alit waits patiently up on the fifth floor, snickering again. “You’re really out of shape,” he says. “I can get you a discount if you wanna join the gym.”

“Why would I do that?”

He shrugs. “Dunno when the elevators will work again. You might as well get your stamina up.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Well, one went out,” he explains, “then a couple months later the other went out. I guess the third one finally died.”

Vector really wonders who the hell is in charge of this damn building.

Finally, they’re in front of Alit’s apartment. The door opens up to the living room and there’s a mirror set against the wall by the door. Vector’s reminded of exactly how terrible he looks.

“Miza’s not home yet, but make yourself comfy,” Alit says, setting his bags by the shoe rack. “Even if he says no, you can still stay the night.”

“How kind,” Vector says wryly.

Then he kneels down to dig through his duffel. “What’s your policy on smoking, anyway?”

“Miza vapes. Says weed and cigs smell like shit.”

“Fuck,” Vector hisses. “I don’t have my pen.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Shut up.”

They end up in Alit’s room, Vector collapsing on his bed as Alit sits at his desk continuing the movie he’d been in the middle of. There’s nothing to do, and Vector hates it. He’d left half his stuff, too angry to remember anything important other than clothes and his phone charger and the stupid fucking bag of pills this was all about in the first place.

The movie is stupid, the kind of cheesy action movie with a terribly cliche romantic subplot. It’s barely distracting and Vector desperately needs something in his system, but he’s not about to pop anything in front of Alit.

“When’s your roommate gonna be home?”

Alit shrugs. “Not sure.”

“This fucking sucks.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yes. I don’t fucking know.”

“Well, when you figure it out--”

“I can’t believe he fucking broke up with me,” Vector says before he can stop himself. He covers his face with his hands. He won’t cry. He still hasn’t cried. “It’s not like he didn’t know.”

The sound from the movie stops. He hears Alit’s chair creak as he spins around to face him. “Know what?”

It’s only been a couple of hours. Vector’s head pounds. “Remember Don?”

He waits for the disappointment. Or the anger. Frustration, even. But Alit gives him none of it. “I thought you were done with that shit. Did something happen?” He’s nothing but curious.

“Nothing happened, that’s the problem.”

The only thing Vector has ever told Alit about his boyfriend is that he must be rich because he spends all of his time travelling, away from his expensive downtown apartment. Vector barely remembers the last time they had a weekend together. A night when Yuuma wasn’t packing or doing laundry just to shove everything back in his goddamn suitcase.

Like he’d rather be anywhere than with Vector, and the pills were just a convenient excuse to finally throw him out.

“What did you get from him?” Alit prompts.

“Ketamine.”

“What’ll it take for you to quit?”

“You really think I’m in the right headspace to quit?”

Alit shrugs. “I mean, you did once.”

He’s not wrong. But he’d been broke then, the last of his stash thrown into an incinerator. Vector doesn’t think he could go cold turkey again.

The front door unlocks, the sound of the deadbolt clacking into place loud enough that Vector can hear it. “Your roommate?”

“Mizael, yeah. Hold on, lemme grab him.”

Alit leaves, and Vector strains to hear their hushed conversation. He sits up and wishes he’d at least tried to look half-decent. First impressions seem important, but whatever. It’s too late now.

Finally, after what feels like forever, Alit’s back. A blonde follows him with milky skin and icy blue eyes, wearing the kind of outfit Vector would expect to see on fashion billboards. A far cry from the sweats he and Alit are in.

“So, Vector, this is my roommate, Mizael.”

His mouth goes dry. “Hey,” he croaks out.

Alit sits back down at his desk, but Mizael just leans against the doorframe. He loosely folds his arms and considers Vector for a moment that lasts too long. “Alit told me you need a place to stay for a while?”

Even his voice is smooth. “Yeah,” Vector says. “I don’t know how long.”

“You have money for the month?”

“Enough to pitch in.”

“A job?”

“Nights at the card shop. The one on Leviath, near the mall.”

“Alit says you smoke.”

“Not inside.”

“Good.” His fingers drum lightly against his bicep. “What about allergies? We take turns cooking, so is there anything you can’t eat?”

“No.”

He nods. Strands of his blonde hair fall out of his ponytail and frame his face. “Do you need me to know anything else?”

Vector knows it’s a question to suss him out. Alit probably mentioned something to him. Triggers or something, anything that could fuck him up at a moment’s notice. He grits his teeth. “No.”

“Okay. We have a spare room we’ve been meaning to clean out, anyway.” Mizael tucks the loose strands behind his ear and turns to Alit. “Why don’t you show him? I’ll get dinner started. If we’re gonna live together indefinitely, we might as well get to know each other.”

~

The room is basically a closet. Not in that it’s the size of a closet, but in that an entire wall is lined with clothes racks that practically sag with the weight of designer clothes. Alit flicks the light on and Vector squints at the too-bright room, the twin mattress shoved in the corner, the dresser that’s no doubt full of even more clothes.

“Does your roommate have a shopping problem?”

Alit shrugs. “Can’t be a problem if it’s his job.”

Vector doesn’t really understand, but he doesn’t need to. “Well. I get a bed,” he says wryly. “I honestly expected the couch.”

“I’ll grab your stuff. You’ve got more than those two bags back there, right?”

“... Yeah.” He doesn’t want to think about going back downtown right now, but he’ll have to, eventually.

The too-clean apartment of Tsukumo Yuuma, who’ll be out of the country again over the weekend. Vector still has the key, too. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll drive you down,” Alit offers. “We can pack it all into the car.”

“That’d be helpful.”

Alit disappears around the corner and Vector finally makes it past the door, over the threshold. He stares at the mattress, surrounded by nothing but racks of clothes, and sighs. It’s not a queen-sized bed that feels too empty every night, and maybe that’s for the best. Somehow, he wishes it really were a couch.

He sits down on it, pulling up his legs and crossing them. There’s an outlet for his phone charger next to the mattress. Helpful. The ceiling has a fan. Nice. The situation could be so much worse.

Right?

Vector thinks again about the pills. Tiny pink pills the size of the end of a pen cap shoved into a Ziploc bag. His headache still hasn’t taken its leave. Would it be better or worse to be running on a high during dinner?

Alit’s back, setting his duffel and backpack on the floor at the end of the mattress. “You okay? I know I keep asking, but you look rough.”

“Wanna drive me to the pharmacy?”

“Sure. We can pick up whatever other shit you didn’t bring too.”

Walking down the damn nine floors of stairs is easier than climbing it, and soon they’re down in the sub-level parking lot. Alit’s car is old, but he’s clearly looked after it. No rust, no dents. Unlike the building it’s parked under.

Somehow, when Vector wasn’t paying attention, night fell. The dark sky over the edges of the city feels suffocating, but the bright fluorescent lights of the pharmacy might be worse. Alit follows him right to the counter at the back of the store, through the refrigerated aisle full of drinks and ice cream and frozen pizzas.

Vector grabs a pack of nicotine patches, a toothbrush, and an energy drink and throws it all on the counter. “Just this, thanks,” he tells the pharmacist, digging his wallet out and tapping his card.

“That’s your solve?” Alit asks when they tear back through the same aisle toward the exit.

“Don’t fucking judge me, asshole.”

On the ride back, Vector takes off his hoodie and presses a patch to his arm. He debates a second one, but they’re already the highest dose on the shelf and he’s not a junkie, he’s just desperate. He cracks open the energy drink and gulps down half of it at a stoplight. Alit hums along to the radio, and when he parks back in the building’s underground lot, he cuts the engine and locks the doors.

“The fuck?” Vector says when he fails to open the door.

“Maybe you need better help than me,” Alit says, looking directly at him. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m not gonna help, but maybe… you need something more than a friend’s place to crash at. Know what I mean?”

“No.”

“I mean therapy. Or using the services at the addiction centre. Or literally anything other than backtracking,” he explains. “And you don’t have to do it alone. We both work nights so I can come with you.”

“Are you done?”

“I’ll tell Miza you’re only staying a week--”

“Manipulative bitch.”

Alit just grins at him. “Get your shit together, Vec.”

~

Somehow, in the brief span of time between getting acquainted with his temporary bedroom and getting back from the pharmacy, Mizael has gotten dinner ready and showered. And is half-naked in the kitchen, pressing the excess water out of his hair with a towel while he checks on the oven.

Vector can’t deal with this, and the nicotine patch is barely doing anything. He should’ve stuck two on, but it’s too goddamn late now.

“What’d you make?” Alit asks, casually, because apparently this is normal for him.

His arms are toned as hell, his shoulders equally so. Vector tears his eyes away. No way is he about to stare. Maybe Mizael goes to the gym Alit runs classes at. Maybe he should take up Alit’s offer, because nine floors of stairs is fucking killer and his thighs are burning.

“The salmon was gonna go off tomorrow, so I baked it. And made stir-fry.” Mizael throws the towel around his shoulders and turns.

Of course he’s got abs too. Vector refuses to stare, feeling his face heat up.

“Are you okay?” Mizael asks, staring directly at him.

Alit glances over to him, and Vector just knows he’s holding in laughter. “He’s fine,” he says with another of his infuriating grins, elbowing him in the side. “Just winded from the stairs, right?”

“There’s so fucking many,” Vector says.

Mizael regards him for a moment and he feels way too seen. “They really need to fix the elevators. Anyway, let’s eat.”

Over dinner, sitting at their cramped dining table and eating the healthiest food he’s eaten in weeks, Vector does not spend every second Mizael’s not paying attention admiring his bone structure. Or his plush lips. Or his wispy blonde lashes.

Alit, to his credit, does not tease him relentlessly.

And when it’s over, Vector heads back to the room-sized closet he’s been given and wonders where the hell Alit met a literal walking piece of art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't do drugs, kids.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for vector being a self-destructive moron around his drug dealer. there's consent, but it's predatory as hell.

A week passes with too many fucking stairs, a slew of nicotine patches, and busy shifts at the card shop. Yuuma hasn’t called or texted, though he never really did anyway so Vector doesn’t know why he expected otherwise. Mizael continues to be art in motion, and Alit continues to be a total bro about it by sending him a link to Mizael’s Instagram account.

@dragluonXO

“Dragluon?” Vector had asked one morning. “Like the Duel Monsters card?”

Alit shrugged. “Probably.”

“Is that how you met? Over a card game?”

Alit just gave him another grin. “Nope.”

Suspicious asshole.

Vector still doesn’t know how they met, but it doesn’t really matter. They live together now, they split rent and groceries. And Vector chips in, at least until he finds somewhere else or they decide to take him in permanently. He doesn’t know when the deadline is, and they haven’t given him one either.

It’s not a terrible setup, save for the mornings when Mizael barges into the closet room to pick out clothes for the day, sliding hangers over his arm as Vector pretends he’s asleep. In the dark, in mismatched pajama pants and loose t-shirts, hair tangled with no makeup on, is the most human Mizael ever looks. The rest of the time, he continues to look like something out of those concept photoshoots in Vogue, the kind of person who belongs up on the screens of Times Square.

Vector still hasn’t looked up the account.

He doesn’t even have his own Instagram account, and he’s not gonna make one just to stalk a pretty boy. With a handle like @dragluonXO, he doubts there’ll be anything interesting.

He hops off the streetcar and heads down into the basement lot where he works. It’s Magic night, which means he has no idea why he’s on shift because there’s five other employees who know more about Magic than he does, but whatever. Tourney nights are always busy, and he needs the money.

There’s a crowd at the tables, almost every seat full of players, and Vector’s already exhausted. Behind the counter are two of his coworkers that actually do know something about Magic, along with Kotori who’s apparently in charge of the music tonight, curled over the laptop at the end of the counter.

“Nightcore? Really?” Vector asks as comes around behind cash.

She just shrugs. “The boss wanted us to start taking requests,” she says.

“All these fucking nerds have terrible taste.”

“Then why not request something too?” She tucks her frizzy, straw-like green hair behind her ear and slides him the request sheet.

“Couldn’t afford a salon this time?” Vector asks, grabbing a pen and scribbling some songs down, each in different handwriting like they’re not all from him. “The hell happened to your hair?”

“Shut up. My roommate did her best.”

“She should drop out of beauty school.”

“I’d tell her that myself, but she already paid the full tuition.” Kotori sighs. “Maybe she’ll get better?”

Vector shoves the sheet back at her and frowns. “You might want to take up praying.”

There’s really not much to do. Two teens are at the counter, hovering over the glass case filled with cards, getting way too excited over an ultra-rare and then finally noticing the abhorrent price.

Vector still doesn’t know how he got into drugs when expensive cardboard has always been there for him, but there’s no shortage of terrible coping mechanisms and he always figured if one wasn’t working, he’d switch to the other. Foolproof, really.

“Need any help?” Vector finally asks the two teens, and they smile and shake their heads.

“Just looking!”

“Actually, do you know if you have any of the Shaddoll structure decks in stock? I didn’t see any on the wall.”

Oh good. A Duel Monsters customer. Something Vector actually knows about. “We sold out last night, but I can check the back stock. Should’ve gotten an order today. You mind waiting a minute?”

“Sure!”

Customer service grates at him, but at the very least he’s not dealing with Weiss customers. Those guys are irritating as hell. Vector heads into the backroom, ready to dig through whatever got sorted earlier, but there’s nothing for Shaddolls. Unfortunate.

When he comes back out, one of his song requests is playing. He lets the customers know what’s up and they smile and say it’s alright. Now to sit and wait till someone else comes up. Fifteen minutes in, the other two are busy with Magic customers, talking strategy and rarity and all the other usual card shit. Kotori, however, is being hassled by two guys who can’t take a hint.

Vector sighs and gets back up.

This shift is gonna be a long one.

~

“How was work?”

Vector glances up the stairs that lead to the basement lot, making out a familiar shape in the dark, edged by the glow of orange streetlights. The red streaks in his blonde hair frame his face. “Why are you here?”

Don smiles, all serene sharp angles. He’s a pretty boy too, but Vector’s been there, done that, and learned better already. “I heard what happened,” he says. “Thought you might need another hit.”

So his drug dealer’s keeping tabs on him? Okay, that’s not creepy at all. Vector climbs the stairs and walks right past him. As expected, Don follows, catching up with long strides and coming right alongside him. Vector huffs.

“How are you taking it?”

“Taking what?”

“Being single.”

Vector rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I got my hands on some Fentanyl if you--”

“Not interested.”

The streets are quiet this late, even in the downtown core. He’s about two city blocks from where Yuuma lives, but he tries not to think about it. If Vector remembers right, he’ll be away this whole week. Maybe this weekend he’ll actually go pick up the rest of his stuff like he was supposed to last weekend.

“What about a drink?” Don asks. “If you need a listening ear, or a shoulder to cry on?”

Don’s a sleaze, but a drink sounds good. Alit doesn’t keep any alcohol in the apartment and neither does Mizael. Vector figures there’s a reason, but has no idea what it could be. He doesn’t really understand either of them.

“Fine,” Vector says. “You’re paying.”

Don leads him to a bar one block from Yuuma’s apartment, and Vector shoves that thought down too as they enter a bar with dim lights and small booths. The hostess greets them with a welcoming smile and leads them to one of them. It’s not nearly that cramped, but Vector can feel Don press up against his side anyway.

“Well, this is quaint,” he says wryly.

Don smiles again. “Isn’t it?” he agrees, and Vector can feel his warm breath against his lips.

If this is a mistake, he doesn’t really care. At least he didn’t take his fucking morphine offer. The waitress introduces herself, but Vector can barely hear her over the music. Don orders them whatever’s on tap.

“One drink,” Vector tells him.

“One drink,” Don echoes, chin in his hand, fingers twirling pieces of Vector’s hair. “Whatever you say.”

It’s only quiet between them for a moment, enough for Vector to notice the rings of condensation that litter the table, the scratches on it and the gum stuck underneath. Because Don is great at being silent when he thinks it’ll get him somewhere, but better at talking when he knows which buttons to press.

“Do you miss him?”

It’s hard to miss someone who was never around in the first place, but Vector gives him a saccharine smile and acts dumb. “Miss who?”

“Tsukumo Yuuma,” Don says, and his name sounds wrong on his lips. “You told me he was the sun. What’s it like, living in the dark?”

Vector doesn’t remember that. Maybe he’d said it on a high. The pills he pops list that as a symptom, memory loss, and there’s a lot of things he wanted to forget then. Too many hours he’s forgotten completely, and perhaps he’s better for it.

“Not too bad.”

“Really?” Don asks, sliding his hand over Vector’s belt, resting it over the buckle. “When was the last time you had any?”

He can’t remember that either. It’s been a while and he doesn’t know who to blame. Himself for not trying enough, or Yuuma for always being away. “Who cares.”

The smirk he gets sends a shiver down his spine. “Mmm… that’s not a good answer.”

Don somehow moves even closer, heating up Vector’s entire right side. His hand comes up to his jaw, gently turning his face toward his. The tilt of his head, the pointed smile, all signs that he didn’t seek out Vector without a full plan for the night.

“What do you want from me?” Vector asks, because at the very least, Don’s always given him straight answers when asked directly.

Their noses are practically touching, they’re so close. “I know something fun we can do to get him off your mind.”

“He’s not on it,” Vector lies.

“If you say so.”

Then, Don withdraws entirely. The waitress comes back, a tray in her hand with their drinks. Once she sets them down and leaves, he turns to Vector once again.

“Let’s play a game,” he says.

“A game?”

Don pulls out a bag from inside his jacket, and withdraws three too-familiar pink pills. Ketamine. “Tell me, how much do you want to forget him?”

He drops one into Vector’s glass.

Vector stares at it, watching it sink to the bottom, dissolving in a stream of bubbles. Then, he pastes on a smirk. “Who says I want to?”

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” Don says. “You were so broken up when you came to see me that you downed two and did nothing but talk about him.”

Vector’s brow furrows. “No, I--”

“How he’s always gone, how he probably doesn’t love you anymore,” he continues, injecting pity into his voice. “And the next thing I hear on the street is he kicked you out? How utterly cruel, to a boy who did nothing but love him.”

Racking through his memories brings up nothing, but Vector knows he hadn’t been the least bit okay that day when he’d specifically gone looking for Don. It’s not unbelievable, he just can’t fucking remember. All of the important things he can’t recall, but the one thing he’d like to forget remains.

Don just smiles at him again, as serene as before, and drops in another pill.

“If you really don’t want to forget, you can just leave,” he says. “It’s easy to walk away, right?”

It’s not. Not from a failing relationship and not from a temporary solution. Vector watches the second pill dissolve, feeling Don’s gaze prying him open.

“We could have some fun. Like the old days. You remember those, right?”

That’s tempting right about now. Don always knew what to do with his lips, with his hands. How to make him feel good. Feel better. And Vector needs to feel better.

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah.”

“Wanna do something like that again?”

Vector snatches the last pill out of Don’s hand and drops it in. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, right before downing the entire pint.

~

Yuuma’s apartment is empty and too goddamn clean when Vector stumbles in. The lights blur, leaving trails in his vision, but Don holds his hand and smiles at him. He’s so calm that Vector wonders what it would take to get him ruffled. He’s never seen him as anything but unfazed and serene.

The door shuts and Don pushes him up against it, lips against his, and Vector throws his arms around him to pull him closer.

“You having fun yet?” Don asks, pulling away from his mouth only to press back against the soft skin on his neck.

“It’ll be fun when you’re inside me--” Vector groans at the teeth that graze over his pulse, eyes fluttering shut, breathless. “Fuck me.”

“Where’s the bed?”

They part only so Vector can pull him toward the back of the apartment, where the queen-sized bed he’d slept in alone for what felt like months at a time is placed in the middle of the wall in the bedroom. The sheets are soft and plush, the pillows fluffy. Luxury, without anyone to share it with.

“Now I see why you always said this place was clean.”

“Fucking spotless.”

Don pushes firmly on his chest, pressing him into the bed. “Have they kicked in yet?”

The way Vector’s feeling, with all the light trails fucking up his vision, half outside of his own body like he’s the audience and not the participant, he’d say yes. Instead, he grabs the front of Don’s shirt and mashes their lips together again.

At some point his jacket comes off, along with his hoodie and his belt and everything else. The air conditioning draws goosebumps over his skin save for where Don’s warm hands hold him in place. Vector can barely tell what’s happening, but it feels good and that’s what matters.

Then, everything goes black.

~

Alit did not sign up for this shit when he told Vector that he could stay with them. He didn’t sign up for being called at three in the fucking morning, but here he is anyway, being the best friend anyone could ask for and grabbing his keys and tying up his sneakers to save Vector from his fucking problems.

“Where are you going?” Mizael asks, in the middle of a binge-watch of something on Netflix.

“Don’t wait up, I don’t know how long this’ll take,” he says instead of answering.

It takes twenty minutes to drive into the downtown core. There’s no traffic this late at night, which is the only blessing so far about this whole situation. Alit parks at the building, gets out of his car, and looks up at the condo building that looms before him.

“That fucking moron,” he mutters, before walking right in.

Don buzzes him up, the elevator ride too quick to remember to calm down. But Vector’s passed out in Yuuma’s apartment with Don watching over him, and what’s he supposed to think? He’s with his goddamn shady drug dealer, in his ex’s apartment, blissed out on whatever the hell Don gave him.

Alit knocks on the door, and to his credit, he does not punch Don in the face. There are bigger problems than wiping the smile off his smug face.

“Where is he?”

Don smiles, calm as ever. “In the bedroom.”

The apartment is a mess. Somehow, they managed to wreck some pottery, tilt the art on the walls, and knock over a fake plant. Fake, because there’s no soil littering the carpet and Alit figures Yuuma’s never around to water it anyway. His trek takes him all the way to the back, to the bedroom, where Vector is curled up naked under soft white sheets. Alit watches his chest expand and contract. At least he’s breathing.

“What did you do to him?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry,” Don says, waving his hand flippantly. “It’s nothing he hasn’t taken before.”

Alit whirls on him. “Like that fucking matters, you fucking creep--”

“He agreed before he took anything. Completely sober, and a touch desperate.”

Alit glances back at Vector. His moronic dumbass of a friend who can’t go one day without doing something massively stupid, like go for drinks with a guy who sells date-rape drugs on the street. “Leave, or I’ll call the cops.”

Don’s smile turns sharp. “Have fun,” he says.

He only relaxes when he hears the front door shut behind him.

“Goddamn it, Vector.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no seriously, don't do drugs.


	3. Chapter 3

When Vector wakes up, it’s like his body and soul have snapped back together. That loose, floaty feeling is gone, and in its place is a pounding headache and the reality of gravity weighing him down. His eyes flutter open into darkness.

“So he lives.”

Vector flinches, groaning. Too loud.

It takes effort to tilt his head up, but when he does, Mizael is standing over him. Hangers are hooked over his arm, and he’s dressed in another one of his designer outfits, though Vector can only tell because of the blurry logo he can make out with his fuzzy vision.

“Sleep well?”

He squints. “I slept?”

“Alit said you passed out.”

“Oh.”

Mizael scoffs and turns back to the racks of clothes. “He told me to watch over you while he’s at work.”

Vector’s too out of it to react. His limbs feel leaden, so he doesn’t bother moving. Instead, he continues watching the fuzzy image of Mizael arrange clothes on the different racks. “What are you doing?”

“Did you know Alit had to carry you? Nine flights of stairs, if you need reminding.”

Fuck.

“And he was so worried about you that he asked if I could reschedule my date,” Mizael continues, sounding bitter as hell, “just so one of us would be here when you woke up from your beauty sleep.”

That explains the getup. “I’m… sorry?”

Moments pass in silence, stacking up between them like dominos about to fall. Soon enough, all the hangers with all their clothes are back on the racks, neat and organized into outfit choices for the week. Mizael turns to him and sits down on the floor, crossing his legs and sighing.

“He didn’t tell me what happened. Will you enlighten me as to why I have to look after you?”

Vector pushes himself up with an immense amount of difficulty, disoriented and trying to blink the fuzziness out of his vision, rubbing at his eyes. It’s now that he notices he’s got a loose t-shirt and boxers on, neither of which are his. “What did he tell you?”

“That you needed a ride back from a friend’s place and that you fell asleep in the car,” Mizael says. “But that sounds a bit too innocuous for why I’m here instead of out eating crepes with my boyfriend.”

“Deep sleeper?” Vector tries, too dead to come up with a proper lie.

He narrows his eyes. “Yeah, try again.”

There’s really nothing Vector can say that doesn’t sound absolutely fucked. He remembers pieces of last night. He remembers getting off work and going to a bar with Don. That’s the only part of the picture that’s crystal clear. Everything else feels smudged out, whole pieces burned away. And no matter what part of the truth he tells, he’s screwed.

Finally, his vision clears. Mizael stares at him expectantly, wearing black Adidas track pants and a matching fitted crop top. His eyes are lined in black and nearly slate-coloured in the dim room, the only light coming in through the open door, and they won’t look away.

Vector feels transparent.

“I don’t… wanna talk about it.”

Mizael sighs again. “Fine. Be a difficult asshole,” he says. "How about you go shower? There’s Advil on the counter if you need it, and leftovers in the microwave. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Then he leaves, and Vector flops back down and stares at the ceiling.

Alit is probably furious.

~

Vector turns up the water in the shower to nearly boiling, twisting it bit by bit till his skin turns red with the heat and he can feel Don’s fingerprints wash away. Daylight always brings about regret, putting nighttime decisions under the harsh rays of the sun and reminding Vector that he really does need a better way to check himself when he feels that desperate.

Bad ideas always look good in the dark.

Good ideas always need a lot more energy than he has.

He grabs Mizael’s body scrub off the shelf and scoops out enough to scrape off every single shitty thing that happened the night before, digging between his fingers and toes and under his nails. It smells like citrus and flowers and everything that Don isn’t.

When the water goes cold, Vector shuts it off. The bathroom is small, most of the drawers and counter space filled with Mizael’s collection of skincare products. He has five different bottles of lotion lined up against the mirror, all in unfamiliar scents, and Vector takes a whiff of all of them before deciding on another citrus-y scent to go with what’s fading from the scrub.

The fan in the bathroom barely works, so as he does things one by one, his skin begins to sweat, slick when he rubs lotion into his skin and moisturizer into his face.

It takes forever to do everything. To go through the motions of brushing his teeth and putting on clothes and brushing through his hair. He knows he should do more, actually go through a full skincare routine, maybe run product through his hair, but his limbs still feel sore and he’s so tired.

So unbelievably tired.

Instead, Vector stands there sweating as he grips the counter, stares himself in the mirror, and tries to figure out what the hell to do next.

~

The food in the microwave is leftovers from the night before, when Alit had made soup even though it’s summer and it’s too hot in the apartment for anything like that. Vector heats it up anyway, because his stomach is running on empty and he needs to do something with his hands. Lifting the spoon to his mouth and back again seems good enough.

The microwave beeps.

“Feel better?”

Vector looks up to see Mizael, who has changed into another outfit. It’s all-black like the last one, a band tee tucked into wide-legged pants and cinched with a belt. He’s wearing lipstick now, a vampy dark berry colour that makes his skin look even paler.

“I guess,” he says. “What’s with the outfit? Going out after all?”

“No.”

Vector doesn’t really understand, but he’s stopped trying to. Neither Mizael or Alit make much sense. “Oh,” he says.

Mizael sits down at the table, crossing his arms and frowning. “Are you hungover?”

He shakes his head.

“What happened?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I can’t just cancel a date and not provide a reason.”

The logic is sound, but Vector can’t help but get his back up. He racks his brain, but he’s still too out of it to come up with anything even vaguely believable. Instead he’s just pissed off, brow furrowing as his voice raises. “Can’t you just say something came up?”

“He didn’t accept that.”

“Well your boyfriend can go fuck himself because I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mizael’s eyes narrow like they did before. “We live together--”

“We’re not friends,” Vector interrupts. “Don’t get it twisted, but I literally met you a week ago.”

The way Mizael grits his teeth, eyes flashing anger for only a moment before fading back to their usual neutral, just makes Vector even more furious. But he says nothing. The chair screeches back as he stands, blonde hair falling over his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says. “But Alit’s not worried over you for nothing.”

“And I’ll talk to him later. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Mizael watches him a moment longer, scoffing before turning on his heel and walking back to his room. Vector turns back to the microwave and reheats the soup a second time, trying not to think about exactly what kind of conversation Alit’s going to have with him later and how much Mizael will be able to hear from one room over.

He’s really not looking forward to it.

~

Even though Vector got up late in the day, there’s still hours to go before Alit gets home. He doesn’t know how to make the time pass, how to stop it altogether so he doesn’t have to think about the future. He barely knows what to do. He thinks about all the stuff he still needs to pick up from Yuuma’s apartment, the key he needs to give back. The bed Don fucked him on, the same bed he’d slept alone on for weeks at a time until last night. Or maybe he’d still slept alone.

Don was never the type to stick around.

Vector can’t remember anything past being pushed down onto the bed. And he’d wanted it that way. He wanted to forget, like he’s forgotten everything else.

(But he remembers when Yuuma used to smile at him, when he used to visit him at the card shop with takeout bags in his arms just in time for Vector’s break, and when they used to stay in bed until the last possible second every morning talking about nothing.)

In his closet of a room, in the dark with the curtains shut, Vector curls up against the wall on the twin mattress and tries to think about the silver lining. One positive thing that came out of this that he can tell Alit.

Well. He got laid. That’s… positive?

Vector’s certain Alit won’t see it that way.

“Fuck,” he mutters, taking out his phone. He checks his messages, opening up Alit’s conversation to type something. Anything, to let him know he’s okay and awake and he’s somehow not pissing blood.

Then his eyes catch the last message Alit sent. The link to Mizael’s Instagram.

@dragluonXO

Vector stares at it for a moment before pressing his thumb into the link, watching it change colour before sliding up into the browser. It loads slowly, the bio text coming up before the pictures slot in one by one on the grid.

 **_xo, mizael_ ** _  
_ _it's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see_  
 _heartland-based model_

Model? Vector looks up at the racks of clothes, all sorted by type save for the one on the right that’s chunked out into outfit options for the week. Suddenly the multiple outfit changes a day make sense. Some days, Vector sees one when he wakes up, another when he leaves for work, and one more when he gets back.

Other days, Mizael just lounges around in his pajamas, without makeup or lashes, taking time to paint his nails in all kinds of patterns.

Vector presses into the most recent upload.

Mizael wears the same outfit he’d seen earlier, when Vector had woken up. Adidas track pants, the snaps on the legs pulled apart up to his thighs. A crop top that bares his defined shoulders and arms. Lit up by a violet light that halos his blonde hair in lavender. He’s sitting on a stool, sneakers resting up on the footholds, hands clutching the seat, face turned in a profile.

He looks surreal. Vector can’t help but stare, memorizing every detail. The jewelry he hadn’t noticed earlier, hoop earrings that shined in the unnatural light, with thick bangles circling his thin wrists and stacked silver rings on his fingers.

The door opens, light from the hallway spilling in as Mizael enters. His dark lipstick has been wiped off, replaced with a clear gloss. The inner corners of his eyes sparkle with a foil shadow. He ignores Vector, heading straight for the right clothes rack, pulling off a set of three hangers before leaving again, door slamming behind him.

Vector shuts off his phone and lets out a breath. “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mizael's really pretty...


	4. Chapter 4

Alit comes home at nearly 9:24pm, sweaty with strands of his hair matted to his face. But instead of showering or washing the grime off his face or doing anything he normally does after a shift teaching classes at the gym, he looks directly at Vector and grins.

“Get up, we’re leaving.”

“I’m busy--”

Alit glances at the TV and back at him. “No you’re not. Let’s go.”

Vector stares at him, unmoving. He’s about to ask why, what could be so important that he needs to be dragged out of the house. Is this a privacy thing? Are they going to have a serious conversation about last night outside?

Before he can form a question, Mizael peers out of the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“We’re picking up the rest of Vector’s stuff, wanna come?”

No, not that--

“Sure. You’ll need help carrying stuff right?”

Fuck.

Vector gets to his feet, realizing he has little choice in this. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He doesn’t bother changing out of his sweats, only throwing on his leather jacket and sliding his feet into his worn-out sneakers. Mizael, on the other hand, runs into his room and comes back out in his Adidas outfit from earlier in the day, hair tied up in a high ponytail. He’s ready by the time Vector’s finished tying up his shoes.

“I wonder what his old place looks like,” Mizael says as Alit pushes open the front door. “Better than ours, probably.”

“Any place is better than ours,” Alit says.

Vector says nothing, the thought of going back there within twenty-four hours making him feel sick. He can’t even be out of it this time. That somehow makes it worse.

Nine flights of stairs later, they’re sitting in Alit’s car with Vector in the backseat, driving off into the night. He tries his best to zone out, letting his vision blur out against the grey fabric of Alit’s seat, but it doesn’t work when Mizael keeps talking.

Asking about Alit’s day, telling him about today’s photos, complaining about his boyfriend and how he was so looking forward to their date today. Vector can’t tell who Mizael’s trying to guilt trip. Maybe both of them. Alit just smiles, nodding along and telling him anecdotes about what happened at the gym. A couple regulars who broke their records on lifting, another who’d finally met her goal weight thanks to his classes and had given him the biggest hug.

Vector rolls his eyes. How nice for them all.

“What about you, Vector? You said you work at the card shop by Leviath, right?”

He stops himself from physically gagging, eyes sliding over to meet Mizael’s. “Yeah, I’m one of the Duel Monsters experts there,” he says.

“Duel Monsters?”

“It’s a card ga--”

“I used to play Duel Monsters!”

Vector can see Alit peer at him through the rearview mirror. “Really?” Vector asks, completely uninterested in having this conversation.

“Yeah, I played a Galaxy-Eyes deck. It was always fun when I could get an OTK off,” Mizael says. “What do you play?”

“I have a few different ones. Depends on the day.”

Vector knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to be friends, to close the gap, but that’s the last thing Vector wants to participate in right now when he already feels sick. Then Alit pulls into Yuuma’s apartment complex and the sight of it makes him feel even sicker.

“What’s your favourite, then?”

“Umbral Horror.”

“Aight, we’re here,” Alit says as soon as they’re parked, right before Mizael can ask Vector anything else.

Thank God, honestly. They all get out of the car, and Mizael doesn’t pester him with a single other question until they’re inside. Vector swipes his key fob at the reader and the doors slide open for them.

“You lived in a place with a giant chandelier?” he asks, slightly in awe.

Alit just snickers. “We’re such a downgrade, aren’t we Miza?”

“Yeah…”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Vector says, leading them over to the elevators.

“Oh wow. Working elevators,” Mizael says as he presses the call button.

“Imagine having those,” Alit says with another snicker.

The elevator ride up takes forever with the dread pooling in his stomach. He wishes he was on something. Somehow, he’d almost prefer it if Mizael was still trying to force conversation out of him. At least then he could focus on something other than how stupid he is.

Even Alit is silent, but Vector knows he wants to say something.

The doors open and they walk out onto carpeted floors that have been freshly vacuumed if the triangles in them are any hint. Vector continues to lead the charge, right up to Yuuma’s apartment where he unlocks the door.

And freezes with his hand over the doorknob.

“You okay?” Mizael asks, folding his arms.

“He’s fine,” Alit says. “He was here last night, after all--”

Vector bristles. “Shut up.”

They both ignore him. Mizael continues with his questions. “This is where you went?”

“Yep. It’s not such a bad drive that late at night. Only like… twenty minutes? Faster when there’s no traffic, you know?”

“Wait, so this is his ex’s place, right? We’re picking his stuff up--” Vector can practically hear the gears click into place in Mizael’s pretty little head. “Why was he here last night?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Alit suggests.

Vector wants to tape both their mouths shut. He knows what Alit’s trying to do. There won’t be a conversation about last night, just one gigantic passive aggressive guilt trip.

“Are we going in?”

“God, just shut  _ up _ .”

He’s too fucking sober for this, but he twists the doorknob and walks in anyway. It’s spotless, the way Vector hadn’t left it. The vague half-memory of Don messing the place up comes unbidden into his head and he shakes it away. The bed’s made, the pictures on the walls are straight, the dishes in the sink are now in the rack.

When Vector turns to look at Alit, he just shrugs.

“This place is so nice!”

Mizael’s voice is muffled by the walls, but in the time it’s taken Vector to absorb everything, he seems to have given himself a full tour, straight through the whole apartment and into the ensuite.

“There’s a monsoon shower?” he asks in disbelief, coming back out to the entrance. “And a jacuzzi! Like, this place has both? And Alit, have you seen this view?”

He grabs Alit’s hand to drag him over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom.

“You can see the whole skyline from here. It’s so pretty lit up like this. I should’ve brought my camera.”

“We can still take some pics on your phone.”

“True, they just won’t look as nice.”

Vector watches them through the bedroom door, at the way their hands are linked together, and scowls. “Let’s just get my shit and go.”

Mizael turns to him as if remembering why they’re here in the first place, neutral gaze shuttering the sparkle out of his eyes. “I can’t believe he got kicked out of this place,” he says quietly to Alit, but Vector can still hear him.

He scoffs and barges into the bedroom, straight into the closet where he kept most of his things. Yuuma had a place for almost everything, including Vector’s stuff that he’d always neatly stack in the closet shelves whenever he got back from a trip. His laptop, his chargers, his college textbooks… Compartmentalized, like everything else.

Vector always wondered what made Yuuma like that, but maybe it’s because it’s easier to let go that way. Chip the whole block off like it was never part of the whole.

He shoves the clothes aside, enough to reach what’s on the shelf without needing to dig through them. And realizes his stuff’s already packed, neatly stacked in a mini U-Haul box, ready to move out in one clean go. Wiped out, like Vector had never existed.

His temples ache, a headache coming on. The kind that invades his eyes and pushes tears out.

“Goddamn it.”

Alit’s by his side before he can register him there, but he won’t fucking cry. He hasn’t and he won’t and he never will because why cry over someone who was never around? Who packed him up and threw him out?

Vector feels himself get pulled over to the bed and sat down, Alit’s hand running soothing circles on his back. Mizael passes them, into the closet where he pulls the box out, setting it on the floor in front of him where he sees it through blurry eyes.

Blurry from…

He touches his face, fingers coming away wet.

“Is everything there?” Alit asks. “We can go if it is. Come on, we don’t have to stay here--”

“Stop.”

Alit goes quiet. Mizael watches him, arms folded like they always are.

“Do you want to be alone for a bit?” Alit asks after a moment. “Or should we stay with you?”

“Alone.”

“Okay. We’ll be in the kitchen, okay?”

“Okay.”

Vector hears the door click shut, feels his hands grip into the duvet, his toes dig into the carpet. The room is too bright, so he screws his eyes shut. All he can think about is when he first moved in. He hadn’t had much, a backpack of stuff for his classes, a duffel bag with his toiletries and enough clothes for a fortnight. He was never one to collect keepsakes. The less he had, the less he’d have to pack when he inevitably moved on. Keepsakes were for long-term commitments, for when he knew he’d be sticking around.

He opens his eyes, blinking away the black spots and wiping the tears away as he stands and looks down into the box. Full of keepsakes, because he’d thought this would be permanent. And on the very top, a framed photo of them. The one Vector fell asleep with every night, like it could replace the real thing.

Before he can think about it, he snatches it up and hurls it at the wall. The glass shatters and the sound breaks the dam inside him that tried to numb Yuuma out.

He clutches his temples, feeling his headache pound louder, and screams till his throat feels raw.

Falling in love was a mistake.

~

When Vector opens the bedroom door, he has the box held in one arm against his hip. His eyes are bloodshot, his face wiped dry. Alit sits up on the counter and Mizael takes up one of the barstools. Both of them look like they want to say something, but Vector doesn’t want to hear whatever it is.

“We can leave now,” he says calmly, ignoring the way his voice cracks, hoarse.

“Okay,” Alit says softly. “What are you gonna do with the key?”

“Mail it.”

“Makes sense.”

Mizael is nothing but silent as he gets up, following them out of this godforsaken apartment. The ride down feels even longer, the weight of the box in his arms reminding him it’s over. He’s really gone this time, and he’s not coming back.

Alit pops open the trunk and helps him organize the gym equipment in there so the box can fit snugly against a duffle bag and a container full of car maintenance stuff.

“Need a smoke?”

“I don’t have any on me.”

Alit shrugs. “I brought them for you,” he says, digging them out of his back pocket and handing them over. “I figured tonight would be rough, I just didn’t realize--”

“It’s fine. You got a light?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pulls open the car door and comes out with the shitty car lighter. “Here.”

Mizael’s already inside, waiting for them. Alit doesn’t seem to be in a rush as he shuts the door again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

It takes a few tries to get the hang of it, but soon the end of Vector’s cigarette glows red with the flame. He breathes it in, letting it fill his lungs, but it doesn’t help him feel any less hollow. He exhales, watching the smoke disperse in the summer breeze.

“I loved him,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know if he cared.”

“I’m sure he--”

“Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Alit says anyway. “You just seemed like you didn’t care, so both of us got the wrong impression. If we’d known, we wouldn’t have taken shots at you like that.”

“It’s fine,” Vector repeats.

Alit frowns, brow furrowing. “Don’t lock yourself up like that. It’s okay to feel.”

“Not when it hurts.”

“Especially when it hurts.”

Vector finally meets his gaze. “I just thought I could pretend Don was him, okay? But all it did was make me feel worse.” He doesn’t know if that’s a good enough explanation, but it’s the only one he’s got to give. “And today I kept thinking how badly I screwed up. How he’d feel when he got back and saw the apartment wrecked like that and how I’d never get a second chance.”

Alit stays silent, listening patiently.

“But we got here and you’d cleaned it all up like nothing happened,” he continues. “Like maybe I could pretend it didn’t happen just like the way the drugs made me forget half of it.”

Vector drops his cigarette, stomping out the flame.

“And then I saw the box and realized there was never a second chance in the first place.”

“Vector--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, voice cracking. “It’s over.”

So instead of saying anything more, Alit wraps him in a hug. He smells like sweat and Old Spice, and Vector leans into him, burying his face in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

And just for a moment, Vector believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's like 6am and i just pounded out this chapter in a hyper-focused daze. comment and let me know what part made u as emotional as i felt while writing <3


	5. Chapter 5

Eight-hour shifts at the card shop are exhausting on slow days because there are hardly any customers. There’s not a shipment today, and only a group of college kids are here, gathered around a table as they split a pizza box of boosters and talk about value and complain that they still haven’t pulled the cards they wanted.

The usual.

Kotori’s hair looks slightly less damaged this week, but Vector puts it down to the way she’s tucked all of her dry split-ends into a messy bun. They’re the only ones in till the evening shift, and he’s only slightly grateful for the day shift. While it’s boring as hell, he’d rather sit around than try to balance five Duel Monsters customers on a tournament night. And Kotori’s good company.

She leans back against the shelves of binders and boosters, watching the college kids rework their decks with their new pulls, and smiles.

“It’s been a while since we’ve split a box like that.”

Vector looks up from the binder he’s reorganizing with yesterday’s trade-ins. “I guess. Last year?”

“When Dark Neostorm dropped.”

“Oh, yeah.”

There was no real reason why they’d decided to get that one. Neither of them cared about the cards in that release, but Kotori’s always been more of a collector than a player, and it’s always fun to tear open foil boosters when you’re not invested in what you get.

“We should do it again, sometime,” Kotori suggests. “Maybe with the new set coming out in a couple months.”

That’s still quite some time away. Vector peers over his shoulder at what they’ve got on the wall, shuffling a pile of cards between his hands. “What about now? I have extra cash. You’re still missing some stuff from Phantom Rage, right?”

Kotori tilts her head at him. “Nothing I can’t buy in singles.”

“What about Genesis Impact?”

“Same thing,” she says. Then, with a frown, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Vector, look at me.”

It takes him a moment too long to actually lift his eyes to hers, and Kotori sighs.

“Are you okay?” she asks again.

“I’m fine,” Vector says, but they both know he’s lying.

She pushes herself off the wall and grabs her bag from behind the counter, rummaging through for a moment before withdrawing a penny and sliding it across the glass with an expectant look.

It’s been a thing between them for ages, since the government stopped the production of pennies and rendered them useless. No one owns them anymore, but this one has switched hands between them so many times it’s like they never stopped. At first it was for silly thoughts, like what Vector wanted for lunch or whether Kotori thought the guy at table three was cute.

It evolved into whenever they didn’t want to talk about something serious.

Vector stares at the penny, teeth pulling at his lip as he wonders where the hell to even start.

One of the college kids comes up to the counter and Kotori goes to help him. Vector picks up the copper coin and frowns, almost regretting the last time he’d used it on her. She’d been anxious for a week about something and kept insisting she didn’t want to burden anyone with the issue, so Vector pulled out the penny and dropped it into her palm.

“It’s not a burden,” he’d told her in the backroom, deciding their coworkers could deal on their own for a bit. She’d nearly burst into tears right then and there.

He doesn’t regret it, though. He just doesn’t know what to tell her right now.

“So?” Kotori asks, turning back to him as the kid leaves with his new purchase. “Wanna do this now, or?”

“Later. I promise.”

She’s really the only person who makes sense, who he didn’t hate on sight. Maybe because she could actually beat him in Duel Monsters with a deck she built in ten minutes out of her collection.

Kotori might not play all that much, but she can definitely win when she wants to.

Vector continues to look through the card binder, slotting in monsters and spells and traps. Someone somehow had time to sort them all by packs, so it’s easy enough to go binder by binder for once, which is a small blessing. An hour passes like this, Vector sitting at the counter organizing cards, Kotori dealing with the few customers that come up to the counter.

He’s really not in the mood to be here, working so close to where he used to live. But that’s why he’d applied in the first place. It was close, so it was convenient. Close to college, close to the apartment, close to everything that mattered in his world. But none of it matters anymore.

“What would you say if I quit?” Vector asks when the store is empty.

“Why? Did you find something better?”

“No.”

“Then, I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

Kotori drums her fingers against the shelves with a frown. “Why do you want to quit? Is it because of--”

“Yeah.”

She already knows he was kicked out. She was the first person he called, but her apartment is a shoebox and her roommate understandably refused to try and fit in a third person. It still sucked, but at least Alit and Mizael took him in.

“Then, I guess you just have to do what’s best for your mental health,” Kotori says.

That’s the thing, though. Vector has no idea what’s best. What he should be doing now that his life is in pieces, shattered into a single cardboard box that he still hasn’t unpacked even though it’s been a week since they’d retrieved it, over two weeks since he left.

He glances at the clock. An hour till their shift is over and they switch off with the guys running the Weiss tournament.

“Wanna get dinner after this?” he asks.

“Sure.”

~

Don hasn’t shown up again since that day. Maybe because Vector’s schedule changed, or maybe because he has better things to do than pretend to be a comforting presence composed of nothing but libido.

Either way, no one interrupts Vector and Kotori on their trek to the only restaurant they ever actually eat at. The owner definitely thinks they’re a couple and sometimes gives them a discount for being so cute, and they’ve never actually corrected him.

“I’ll get this,” Kotori insists. “Find a table?”

Vector picks out the corner in the back, far from the cash, further from the windows, sliding into the booth and pulling the penny out of his back pocket. It looks shiny and new, like the day they’d first started passing it back and forth. A joke turned serious.

Finally, Kotori’s back with two cardboard containers full of perogies, topped with mushrooms, onions, cheese, and a fried egg. It smells delicious, the meal never getting old and only ever getting tastier.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking the fork she thrusts at him along with the handful of napkins.

Kotori just shrugs. “So. What happened?” Her brow is furrowed with concern, lips twisted in a frown.

Vector hates that look on her.

“Well, you know I moved in with my old college friend?”

“Yeah?”

He lets out a breath, avoiding her gaze and staring at the posters that line the walls. “His roommate is an Instagram model. Real hot.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

“No. Not really.”

There’s nothing and everything to tell her. Vector still has no idea what to say. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he can’t keep going in circles in his own head. He scowls, frustrated. “Literally nothing I say is gonna sound like a problem.”

“Well, you’re still…”

“Still what?”

“I don’t know. Breakups are shitty. You’re not gonna be over it overnight, you know?”

Maybe that’s the problem, Vector figures. That he can’t be over it now instead of however long from now. An unknown time on an unknown date, far in the future or maybe tomorrow. Not knowing when this hollowness will fill up with literally anything else.

“Wanna meet my roommates?” Vector says, when they’re halfway through their meal. “The hot one is a model.”

“A model?”

He takes out his phone, bringing up Mizael’s Instagram. “Yeah, this fucker.”

Kotori’s eyes go wide. “Wait, you’re roommates with Mizael?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love kotori


	6. Chapter 6

The fan turns above him, barely cooling the room. Vector stares up at it, exhausted. Sleep without sleeping is a feat, but he’d managed to do it anyway. Lucid dreams that kept his mind awake and capable of basic decision-making, but they’re really just a curse.

It’s been a while since he’s had one. He can hardly remember what it was about, but it left him feeling uneasy.

Two weeks have passed since they’d retrieved his stuff from the apartment. His laptop sits on the ground next to the mattress, plugged into the wall and charging. His phone rests on top. Mizael’s dresser is where his college textbooks sit, next to a jewelry box. The U-Haul box of his stuff is beside it on the floor, taped shut so Vector doesn’t have to look at it. He still hasn’t figured out what to do with any of it.

He wanted to throw it all away, but Alit had talked him out of it.

He still wants to throw it all away.

The door opens, but no light drifts in. Vector expects Mizael, coming in for the fourth time today to reorganize his clothes and pick out something new even though the right rack is full of ready-made choices.

“Hey.”

Vector rolls his head over, eyes making out Alit’s outline. “What do you want?”

Alit sits down beside the mattress, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. “You planning on getting out of bed today, or?”

“Ugh. Fuck off.”

He just grins like always. “Do you still like that one ramen place? What’s its name…” He snaps his fingers like it’ll help it remember. “Kon… something?”

“Konjiki?”

“Yeah! That’s the one. Wanna get lunch there?”

“It’s nearly dinner.”

“So dinner, then.”

“No one’s cooking today?”

“Miza’s on a date,” Alit explains with a shrug. “Told us to figure it out.”

“A date, huh?”

“Yep. I thought takeout might be good, but…” he trails off, his hand coming up to wave circles in the air like it’s supposed to be self-explanatory. “Anyway. Let’s go out. My treat.”

Ten minutes has Vector rushing through his routine; brushing the grit off his teeth, washing the sweat off his face, and digging through his duffle bag for his last set of clean clothes as Alit takes his time tying up his shoelaces. When Vector finally shows up at the door, Alit gives him a once-over.

“Hey, you don’t look dead!”

“Truly, a feat,” Vector drawls, pulling the door open and walking out.

If the walk down nine flights of stairs isn’t enough, Alit insists they walk to the station too. It’s only a couple blocks away, but it takes forever when the weather’s boiling hot and the sun is out in full force. It doesn’t help when, while waiting at an intersection, Alit grabs Vector’s chin and stares at him for an intense moment.

“Oh good,” he says cheerily. “You’re not high.”

“What--?”

“Miza was worried.”

“Worried? Why the fuck--”

“I don’t know” Alit shrugs. “He just had a feeling, it’s not like I told him. It’s not exactly hard to tell when you walk around like a zombie most days.”

Vector scoffs. “Whatever.”

The train ride is quiet, the car full, and Vector sticks his earphones in, leaning against Alit only so that he doesn’t lean into a stranger. Konjiki is only twenty minutes or so away, and their stop comes soon enough. They file out with the crowd and Alit grabs his hand to make sure they don’t get separated. Even though it kinda pisses Vector off (because he’s not a child, okay?), it’s kinda comforting in a way.

When they’re back outside, on the street, Alit pulls Vector’s earphones out. “Hear that?”

“What?”

But Alit doesn’t answer, just pulls him across the street. Vector tries to concentrate through his headache, but there’s nothing but the sound of the wind and birds and traffic and city chatter. And then it clicks.

“Oh,” he finally says, and Alit laughs.

“Yeah, you fucking NEET.”

Vector rolls his eyes. “Like you ever go out,” he mumbles, clutching Alit’s hand a bit tighter as they weave through people and pass by stores and banks and restaurants all to find the tiny white rectangle set against an older street of brick townhouses.

Konjiki, the only ramen place Vector actually likes, because he doesn’t really care for the others when they’re always way too busy to even get a seat. It’s simple, underrated, with a small menu. A bell chimes when they walk in, and they’re directed to a table near the back. It’s quiet, the way Vector likes things. Quiet and still.

They already know what they’re getting, pointing out their usual picks before the waiter leaves. Alit drums his fingers against the table, leaning back into the booth seat.

“How’ve you been, anyway?”

“We live together--”

“Yeah, but we rarely get to talk. You’re always sleeping or at the shop.”

Vector grimaces. “I’m tired.”

“Well, I got that part,” Alit says, lips twisting in a half-smile. He takes his phone out of his pocket, flipping it a couple times before unlocking it and typing something with his thumbs. “You know, maybe we should talk about the addiction centre…?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious. How many you got left?”

“I haven’t taken any.”

“Liar.”

Vector avoids his gaze. The waiter comes back with two bowls of ramen and he picks up his chopsticks, tapping them together restlessly. “I don’t--” He scowls, stopping himself from raising his voice. “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Alit digs into his bowl, splitting one of the eggs in half with his chopsticks like it’s nothing and popping it into his mouth. He chews slowly and swallows and sips on his water, and Vector wonders if he’s gonna drop this.

Then he opens his mouth again: “Give ‘em to me.”

“Give you what?” Vector asks, irritated.

“The pills,” he says. “All of them. I’ll keep them for you.”

Vector narrows his eyes. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Didn’t I already say I am?”

Vector sets the chopsticks down with a loud snap and picks up the ceramic spoon, pressing it against the noodles and watching broth seep into it. “They’re at the apartment.”

“Okay. Then you’ll give them to me when we get back,” Alit says, like this is the easiest thing in the world to do. “That’s not a problem, right?”

It’s a problem. A massive problem, but Vector refuses to say it, refuses to admit exactly how many he took this week while Alit and Mizael slept or were out of the apartment. He sips at the broth, picks his chopsticks back up, twists a few noodles through them. Alit’s eyes feel like they burn through his skin as he watches.

“It’s not,” Vector finally says. “I’ll give them to you.”

He’ll just have to get more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> addiction is rough


	7. Chapter 7

Don’s number is saved in Vector’s phone under the name “Daddy.” Not that Vector had chosen that. More that Don had swiped his phone and given him his number himself last time they met up. Weeks ago, when Vector had gone looking for him. Scolded him for deleting such a gift in the first place.

Then he’d winked and said “You know, for a good time.”

The house is bustling, in that Vector can hear Mizael in the shower and Alit in the kitchen. The spray of the water and the drip of their coffee machine are all the normal hallmarks of what constitutes as “morning,” as he’s learned. While Mizael’s job doesn’t have hours, and Alit never needs to be awake for work until noon, they always seem to be up early. So Vector sleeps, or tries to. But not today.

The bright light of his phone screen makes Vector squint in the darkness, and he turns it down before scrolling to Don’s number.  _ Daddy _ . Ugh.

(He should change it.)

He presses his thumb into the number, watches as the screen flips black and dials, and sets the phone to his ear. It rings, and rings, and rings, and--

“Hey baby.”

Vector almost gags. God. He hates it so fucking much. “Hi daddy,” he responds, though the word feels like slime on his tongue.

“Is something wrong?” Don coos.

The whole script makes him feel disgusting, and it hasn’t changed since college. Or at the very least, Don just likes hearing him like this. Needy, reliant. Gritting his teeth, he wonders if this kind of embarrassment is worth it. It was, once, and Vector likes to think he’s past it.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, baby, I can’t help.”

He’s really vying for it today. Infuriating prick. Vector only remembers the next line because he said it so much in college. “I miss you.”

“Really? What do you miss…?”

Fuck, he really has to say it. The full line and not a cop-out. “Give me a fucking break,” he mutters, and he can hear Don chuckle, low and grating.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Vector takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut. He wishes Yuuma had never found them and screamed at him. That he’d never told Alit about them. That those tiny pink pills had never been confiscated and thrown away. A fucking waste.

He can hear the shower shut off, the loud splash of water from Mizael squeezing out his blonde hair. Fuck, he’s taken too long to do this. Soon he’ll be in here, wrapped in a towel, picking out his outfit for the day.

“I’ll call you back.”

“I’ll be waiting!”

Vector hangs up and slides his phone back under his pillow. Rolls over and shoves his face into it because he just knows his face is red and he has to at least pretend he’s asleep. Like no one woke him up in this cursed apartment with paper-thin walls. Mizael might like pampering himself, but he’s always so goddamn quick if he decides to shower in the morning.

Mizael barges into the closet room a minute later. Vector still pretends he’s asleep, still inconspicuously rolls over to face the wall because the lights are too bright, still tries not to fidget as if it’s any other normal day. He listens to the hangers scrape over the racks as Mizael pushes things aside and debates over his choices. Tries not to think about his own.

“I know you’re awake.”

Vector ignores him, lying there feeling just as exhausted as he had when he went to sleep last night. Like he hadn’t gotten a single wink of sleep at all. Withdrawal, he figures. Or something like it.

“My boyfriend’s coming over today.”

Vector groans. “Really?” he says, voice croaking with sleep like he hasn’t been awake for an hour working out how desperate he is to even call Don. “How nice for you.”

Then Mizael’s shadow falls over him. “He’ll be staying over tonight.”

“Shouldn’t I get like a twenty-four hour notice for this shit?”

“No.”

Mizael goes back to pulling clothes off the rack, pondering over them before putting them back, going back to certain pieces, huffing loudly as he can’t seem to find what he wants. Vector tries to ignore him, he really does, but the sixth time Mizael sighs, he can’t help it.

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t know what to wear.”

Again, Vector thinks about the preplanned outfits that make up the entire rack on the right side. The ones that Mizael meticulously plans out at the start of the week, so that he might not have to actually think so hard every morning.

He rolls over to face Mizael, eyes falling on his bare ankles. “What about all of those?” he asks.

“They’re for photoshoots. Not daywear.”

Makes sense. Vector frowns. “Why do you care so much today?”

Mizael glances over his shoulder, pinning him with an unimpressed look. He holds the hanger that’s currently clutched in his fingers up against him, a short dress that hits his thighs with multiple criss-crossing straps. “Do you think you could take this off me without an issue?”

“What?”

“Like, without getting confused or ripping it. It was expensive.”

Vector just stares at him. “Are you for fuckin’ serious?”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Mizael turns back and sets the hanger back on the rack. “The straps might confuse him,” he mutters, before quietly contemplating another piece.

Minutes pass and Vector flops onto his back and huffs, debating getting up himself. Making choices he doesn’t want to make because he’s been without a pill for almost a week, he ran out of cigarettes three days ago and nicotine patches yesterday. He couldn’t find his vape pen in the U-Haul box, and he wonders if Yuuma threw it out instead of packing it away.

They’re so fucking expensive, too.

“Mizael?”

“What.”

“Alit said you vape.”

“Yeah, why?”

Vector’s eyes shift to see Mizael’s wet hair, hanging in combed golden strands against his back. “Like, in the apartment?”

“Mhm. It doesn’t stick to the walls,” he explains. “Or my clothes. It’s convenient.”

“Oh. Okay.” And then Vector loses his nerve to ask. Pathetic. Just ask. Borrow it. It’s not that big a deal, is it?

Mizael pauses, turning to him again. His eyes are narrowed. “Are you actually trying to have a conversation?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Are we talking to each other?”

“So you’re sober today,” he says, like it’s a miracle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mizael scoffs. “Like you don’t know. I’m not blind. Did you want to borrow my pen?”

Fuck. He was too obvious. But. “... Yeah.”

It’s quiet between them, but Vector can hear the front door close and lock. Alit’s gone, to do whatever he does when he’s not working. Mizael stares down at him and Vector hates the feeling enough to finally sit up.

“Help me pick an outfit,” Mizael says after a long moment. “And I’ll let you use it.”

An outfit his boyfriend would take off later, from what Vector’s gathered. A pain, but it’s something. “Okay.”

He pushes himself up, feet flat on the cool linoleum floors. Mizael holds a hand out to him and he grabs it for the olive branch it is, letting himself be pulled up. The clothes rack is full of choices, ordered by colour today. Last week it had been by type. Mizael rearranges everything so often that Vector wonders if it’s his own way of coping with life.

Maybe he’s just used to Mizael being half naked around the apartment, in pieces that show off his legs or his back, always hanging jackets off his shoulders so no one can forget how toned they are, but being in just a towel with water dripping over his muscles somehow isn’t affecting him today. Small blessings. Or maybe he’s just that exhausted.

In the weeks they’ve lived together, Vector has scrolled through more and more of Mizael’s Instagram. He vaguely remembers one outfit involving a fluffy blue cardigan decorated with oranges that had big sleeves and a hem that went to his knees. Mizael had worn it with leggings for some athleisure sponsorship.

Hooking his fingers over the hanger, he pulls it out and hands it to Mizael, who folds the choice over his arm.

“Really?” Mizael mutters, fingers grazing over the material. “It’s hot out.”

“Subway’s cold, though.”

He doesn’t argue.

White looks good on Mizael too. Vector stares at the section, looking for a dress with a flowy skirt. He’d seen one on him once. The photo had been outside, a preview for a shoot he did with a local photographer, and they’d put him in a floppy sun hat. The hat was stupid, but the dress was nice. Vector wonders if he has something similar to it.

A moment later, his fingers grasp onto one. White, short, flowy. Strapless with a single zipper on the back. He pulls it off and hands it over. “Your boyfriend can’t fuck up this one, right?”

Mizael’s teeth pull at his lip as he looks it over. “It’s simple,” he says.

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll try it on.”

~

The knock on the bathroom door echoes through the steam and Vector figures it’s good timing, he’s basically done. He opens the door, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, sweatpants loose around his waist. The cool air of the rest of the apartment makes his skin break out in goosebumps.

“How do I look?” Mizael asks.

Vector blinks at him, then turns to spit out a wad of toothpaste. He washes his mouth out and sticks the toothbrush back in the holder before taking a look.

Mizael turns around for him without prompting. The outfit is cute, just like Vector had visualized it, and he’d paired it with his usual go-to makeup. Skin-focus, that no-makeup makeup look that Vector’s seen all over his Instagram, paired with a peach-toned lip gloss. As always, his blonde hair hangs straight down his back, but two long orange barrettes clip his hair back on the side of his part. A mini orange backpack is strapped over his shoulders.

“You look good,” Vector says, like he’s not invested in how much Mizael approves, like he doesn’t care that he was trusted to do this.

“You think so?” Mizael asks, and it almost sounds earnest.

“Yeah. It’s cute.”

“Pick my shoes too.”

Mizael grabs his hand and drags him over to the shoe rack beside the front door. Three pairs are out on the floor, and Vector feels his eyes on him again.

“Those ones,” he says quickly. It’s a blue pair of chunky platform sandals that almost match the shade of his sweater.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They look comfy.”

Again, Mizael ponders this, brow furrowed. “Okay.” Then he bends down to pick them up and goes to sit on the couch to put them on.

“Anything else?” Vector asks wryly.

“No.”

“Okay, then,” he says. “Have fun.”

“I will,” Mizael says. “My vape pen is on my desk. If you touch anything else, I’m kicking you out.”

Then he strides past him and out of the door, finally leaving Vector in the apartment by himself. He rushes back to the bathroom, where he’d left his phone by the sink. Again, his fingers hover over Don’s number. He thinks about it, hard, gritting his teeth.

_ You’re not desperate. You have Mizael’s pen. You’re fine. _

Shoving his phone in his pocket, he heads to Mizael’s room. Stares at the door, the Do Not Disturb sign off the handle for the day unlike during the days he spends at home, no doubt doing shoots in his room for his Instagram.

Vector realizes he’s never seen his room before. Never glimpsed the inside past the backdrops for Mizael’s self-portraits. The props he uses.

It makes him nervous, somehow.

He turns around, heading into his room, the closet room, instead. He digs out a t-shirt from his pile of clean laundry and throws it on. Okay. Now he’s ready. Vector steels himself and walks straight out of his room and across the hall into Mizael’s room.

The door swings open to reveal a bedroom he’d never imagined to be this messy. With the way the closet room is so organized, Vector had always assumed it would be the same in Mizael’s room. Clean, unbearably sanitary, like Yuuma’s apartment had always been. But he was wrong, in a way that’s comforting. Somehow, he can tell Mizael tried to clean. If his boyfriend is staying over tonight, then it must have been worse.

Pages of fashion magazines are pasted in a collage over the far wall, over his bed that’s shoved into the corner. His desk is below the window, beside his bed, his computer cycling through its default screensaver photos. The rest of the space is dedicated to a complicated photography studio, complete with softbox lights, a ring-light in the corner, and props scattered everywhere from plastic dollar store flowers to elaborate Japanese fans.

Vector carefully picks his way through the room, careful not to step on anything other than the fluffy rug that takes up half the floor, and regards Mizael’s desk. It’s littered with makeup. There’s no doubt this is where he applies it, in the natural light that drifts through the window. Vector tries to locate the pen in the mess, and finally he finds it. Metallic blue, with a gradient to pink at the very bottom.

Cute, just like him. Unlike this room, even though it’s kind of endearing the way it’s decorated, the way it’s so messy and used. Vector can tell Mizael loves what he does. A window into him, in the square footage of his bedroom.

But he forces his feet to move, back out of this space that doesn’t even slightly belong to him but still feels so familiar. To the living room, where he can turn this pen on and finally grant himself some fucking reprieve. Because he doesn’t need Don when he has this.

Whatever flavour it is, Vector’s sure it can’t be worse than enduring another attempt at calling that creep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mizael is really cute i love him

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter, maybe? i'm [@piperEXE](https://twitter.com/piperEXE) :3


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